


Trial and Error

by Entropy House (AnonEhouse)



Category: Drake's Venture (1980)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 01:12:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Entropy%20House
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They may be best friends, but Thomas and Francis always compete for supremacy. First one is on top, and then the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trial and Error

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

My cloak whips about my legs, and my hair is dampened by sea-spray. Salt encrusts the ruff I'd spent hours starching and pinning in shape. My wrists burn from the coarse rope binding them and a cold fire burns within my breast as I discover with each hate-filled word, each venomous insult that spews from Francis's lips, how grievously I have miscalculated, how ill-judged my understanding of my...friend.

This trial is a farce that in any civilized venue would be laughed out of court. But I stand on a chill-swept shore in a savage land, with the only men of honour present powerless against a tyrant. I have been foolishly slow to realize that its only purpose is to prove Francis's _godhood_ to my soldiers as well as to his sailors. 

I had thought when Francis ordered my release from the mast that the man had come to his senses. Once his temper cooled he must surely see we needs must work together as equal comrades for the success of this venture. There is Spanish treasure enough to plunder without risking the straits of Magellan. I should have realized our discord was not engendered by disagreement as to how best to achieve sufficient wealth. Francis must have a surfeit of revenge upon Spain for the injury done him on a previous voyage. He must glut himself on Spanish wealth and become a word of terror to all who sail these seas. I am exceedingly wroth with myself for my willful blindness.

Brute force is all that has import here. Should the judgment go against me Francis may not even abide by our 'gentleman's' agreement to refrain from persecuting my brother and my friends. Francis is no gentleman, despite his many virtues, notably those of courage and intelligence. He worships expediency above honour. Well then, if I must squabble like a fishmonger for the lives of those who depend upon me, then shall I essay it with a good will. I step forward and draw myself up proud as I face Francis. He is flushed from the efforts of his exhortations and happily he has need of a pause to catch his breath. I seize my opportunity with both bound hands.

"Sirrah, you call name me 'lawyer' and style me as one who does not shoulder a fair portion of the work of this company! I am a gentleman and a soldier! When battle comes I am in the forefront, as all here will attest. I would you prove your accusations upon my body in single combat and let it be God's will who shall have the right of it!"

The air is tense with expectancy. Francis's colour rises even higher, and his chest swells as he prepares to answer. I can see from his eyes that he will deny me this, not out of fear, for Francis is entirely without that quality, but for that he would be acknowledging me equal.

I have tossed the die, and lost, it seems. 

Then comes succor from a most unlikely source. Francis's own brother, the viper who dripped venom in my friend's ear, speaks up clearly. "Aye," John Drake says, "we would see who is the better man!" 

Francis rounds on his brother. "Woudst have me do battle with a sorcerer?"

I laugh before this latest accusation can paint me blacker. "If I were a sorcerer, versed in black arts, then would not defeating me with your own strong hands add to your glory and show God is on your side?" I add softly, "If I were a sorcerer, would I not have my revenge after my death on those who denied me my right to combat, to die on my feet as a man?"

The men mislike that thought. They shift uneasily; I hear the sand crunch beneath their feet. Fear of Francis's condign punishment keeps the outward silence, yet even a man blind to his fellow's feelings would sense the restiveness. Francis may rule by fear, yet there is a limit to control by terror. Men break when pushed too far. Francis may yet have a true mutiny and he knows it as well as I.

"Very well, then, it shall be as you wish!" Francis shouts and slams his hands upon the table bearing the false testimony against me. "God shall prove me victor and your death will be without that dignity which thou dost crave above all else, Master Doughtie!"

"Free my hands, and give me my blade, that we may resolve this matter as gentlemen." I smile. Francis is a stout fighter, but I am armoured by my innocence.

It feels very odd to face Francis as an adversary. I hold my sword in salute, and quietly say, "I would not dispute with you, Francis, if only you would give over on the matter of the course. Already many have died of ague and tempest. Your fleet is depleted. Surely you can see..."

"Enough!" Francis shouts. "You wish to fight me as a man, then do so with your hands, and not your clever prating tongue!"

I go into the fray with feelings unlike any I have experienced. I have never raised my hand against a friend, save in sport or in sparring. I have trusted Francis at my back in Ireland. I would that I could trust him now.

He presses me hard. He is a man of immense vigor and determination, but then, so am I. God is indeed on my side, for Francis's foot slips as he lunges at me, blade set to pierce my heart. I have him on his back on the sand in a heartbeat, my sword at his throat. "Yield, Francis," I urge him. "As God is my witness, I never meant you harm, nor do I wish your blood on my steel."

"And if I will not?" Aye, Francis is without fear. His gaze has naught but fury in it.

"Then I will do as I must, and shall be glad that you die a shriven man, by the same grace you granted me. Yet I should regret it most bitterly."

Francis snarls, "And the venture?"

"We go north. I would rely most heavily upon your sea-wisdom, yet I must vow never to allow you uncontested mastery of the fleet, Francis. You must acknowledge me your equal and co-captain of the fleet ere I let you rise." I hope his pride will allow this. I cannot cede more to him. "You must leave off these vile accusations of malign sorceries and treachery, admitting them base calumnies. And finally, you must never again have private speech with your brother and cousin, who shall sail on separate ships from thou and I on the _Pelican_. I would keep you close that we may relearn the trust that once abided between us."

"Strike then, coward."

"Ah, Francis, do I then require so very much? You should return to England with wealth enough to equip a fleet twice this size, and assay the journey again in a few years time. Would you surrender your chance at fame and leave no better legacy than bones in the sand to be mocked by the next mariners to reach these cold shores? It is not a fitting end for one such as you." In truth, I will slay him if needs be, but it is a poor solution to our dispute. A very poor solution.

Francis meets my eyes steadily, and slowly the anger fades, letting his cool wits have sway. "Aye, I would give you my oath to abide by your conditions. Save that you would not credit it."

I smile; relieved. "Ah, Francis, that was but my anger speaking. I misliked your sharp words, and but replied in kind, truly. Your word is good with me, and I would rejoice to once more be thy comrade as well as partner in this venture."

Francis nods. "I do give my oath, not to be foresworn on peril of my immortal soul, that I shall abide by the terms you have stated, Thomas."

I sheathe my sword and extend my hand to Francis. He takes it without hesitation, and rises to stand at my side. He glowers at the assembled company. "Well, it is done!" He looks south with a brief flash of regret, and then faces the men. "There is no more discord amongst the company!"

The men raise a cheer of mixed enthusiasm, some glad no doubt that we shall not sail those perilous waters, whilst others think regretfully of the lesser bounty of the north. We will have to watch the men closely, Francis and I.

One thing I had not mentioned to Francis was my determination that we should share the master's quarters aboard the _Pelican_. It is not a matter of mistrust, but if we are to be co-equals, this will show it the more clearly to the men. When I have my chest of possessions brought in, Francis looks at me, but says nothing until the seaman who had carried it was once more gone beyond our hearing.

"I shall miss my cousin," is all he says, in lieu of the protest I expect. Francis often surprises me. "He has a fine hand with a pen."

"So he has." I sit at the captain's table, idly looking over charts made most cunningly indeed. "I also have some small skills in limning. I will surely put all I have at your disposal."

"All?" Francis gives me an odd look. "Woudst thou perform all the tasks my cousin did for me?"

"All that my ability may encompass."

"What of skills that you do not possess?" Francis looks at me, still with that strange expression on his face.

"Show me the way of it, and I shall master any requisite discipline, I wager." I do not know what Francis wishes, but this is the most civil conversation we have had in months, and I am loath to introduce any impediments to its continuance.

"You are not a seaman, Master Doughtie."

I grin. "Perhaps not, yet I learn, I do learn."

"So you do. " Drake smiles.

Francis has been a fey mood all evening, smiling and laughing far more than his wont, and urging me to match him drink for drink after our meal. The men are quiet, as are the winds, and I too feel the need to relax my vigilance and celebrate our narrow escape from friend-slaughter. He insists I share a cask of captured rum. It is overly sweet for my taste, but good manners prohibit me from casting aspersions on my host's choice.

It is only as I rise from table that the rum reveals the bite beneath its sweetness. I stagger, and Francis is there, suddenly, catching me in his arms. "I crave your pardon, I had thought my sea-legs were better than that."

"Aye, well, long voyages do things to a man." Francis's voice is unwontedly soft. The rum has mellowed him, it seems. "Let me help you to your rest, Thomas."

I laugh. "Would you play man-servant to me, Francis? Surely not."

"Aiding a friend is no unpleasant task." Francis gets me to my bed by main strength. My legs are willow-withes, bending without support. I find myself chuckling as Francis draws off my boots, removes my ruff and loosens my clothing. 

"You were always a good friend to me."

"Aye. And would be a better, in future," Francis says softly. He continues to remove my clothing. I think about protesting that he need not do me this service, but he is smiling, obviously not thinking it a demeaning task. My belly warms as I realize that we are truly friends again.

The rum has made Francis look very strange. His hands move slowly over my body, stripping me bare. "My nightshirt, if you please, Francis. The sea air is chill."

"There are better ways of keeping warm at sea than linen."

"Oh?"

Francis strips and joins me in bed. It's impossible to disguise his carnal intentions, not that he makes any effort to do so. "You will give me this ascendancy over you, Thomas," he says, looking as serious as he had earlier in the day, with the sun shining on his auburn curls as he sought my life. "You will give me this."

"It is a sin, Francis!" I struggle as he forces me to turn and lie supine beneath him.

"Only a venial one." Francis rides my motion as easily as he strides the deck of the _Pelican_. "You said you would learn to be a seaman. Then learn this!"

I turn my head and see his arm bring an unlit oil lamp close. I can see nothing else of what he does, not with my face close-pressed into the coarse linens by the weight of his other hand on the nape of my neck. But I know what he does. First his fingers thrust into me intimately, slick with oil. Then... he forces his member into my anus and uses me as though I were a whore from the docks.

I cry out once and thereafter bite my lip to hold my silence, not wishing witnesses to this shame. Francis signals his completion with a loud groan, and falls heavily onto my back. "Have I hurt you, Thomas?" he says a few minutes later, patting my shoulder as if in apology.

I am too angry to reply. He sighs against my back. "The seaman's initiation is always difficult. I had nearly forgot how it was with me my first time. The good master learned to value me as more than cabin boy. Indeed, he left his ship to me upon his death."

"And what would you leave me?" My voice shakes with anger.

"Why, Thomas, this isn't the same at all. You have claimed the mastery over our course. I claim _you._ "

"Do you not fear my sorcerer's revenge!" I wished then, indeed, for one hot intemperate moment, that I _had_ commerce with Satan and could call down coals of fire on Francis's head.

Francis grunts and rises from my back, pulling his lax member free. "You may in truth be a sorcerer, yet then, why I have done no more to thee than the devil must in his revels, and my yard at least is neither brazen nor hell-fired."

I roll onto my back and glare at Francis, who is engaged in donning an nightshirt. "You know full well I am as good a Christian as you, sirrah!"

"Aye. Good night, and bide ye well, Master Doughtie." With that Francis goes to his own bed, lies down and closes his eyes.

His insolence gives me strength. I stumble to my feet, and brace myself against my bed. "You will not use me as your catamite and then lie you down to slumber! You swore we should be equals! Have you forgot your oath so soon?"

Francis opens his eyes lazily. "I have forgot naught, Master Doughtie. Naught at all. As I have not forgot the feel of your body pressed against mine the day we left Plymouth."

I feel a furious rush of colour to my cheeks. "Twas excitement, pure and simple! There was naught of lust in my comradely embrace."

"Oh, aye, as you say it. Very well, then, you claim equality, why, come and take it." Francis rolls over onto his belly. I stand there, staring at Francis in total disbelief. After a few long moments, when all I hear is the murmur of the sea, he turns his head and gazes at me, blandly, eyes going up to my face, then down again to the crux of my thighs. "Brewer's droop, is it? Naught to be shamed of Master Doughtie, it happens to the best of seamen, aye, and valiant soldiers, too." He turns onto his side and pulls the blanket over himself. "Forget not to trim the wick ere ye retire, my good master."

I will not have it thus. I am the equal of Francis Drake. I am his equal. I trim the wick and return to my bed. I shall prove myself on his body. The thought comforts me as I fall asleep.


End file.
